


Cursed

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curses, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, M/M, Post-Canon, Spells & Enchantments, but not in a sexual sense, warning for tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27284608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley run to Anathema and Newt's rescue when Newt does the unthinkable ...He reads one of Anathema's spell books.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63
Collections: Trick-Or-Treat!





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScrapBramble (Nymphalis_antiopa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphalis_antiopa/gifts).



> Written for TricketyBoo 2020, Scrapbramble's prompt 'cursed'. I put this at a spooky level between 0 and 1 because nothing gory happens but some people do have an issue with anything that happens to the human body.

Anathema sighs long and heavy as she watches another one of her end tables fly through the air, strike the wall, and break into a thousand pieces no larger than a toothpick.

“Dammit, Newt!” she snaps, glancing at him from over her shoulder. She doesn’t want to look at him. Not now. And not just because he keeps wrecking her furniture. “You are going to replace everything you break, you know that, right?”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” he says glumly.

Anathema sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s been through every single book she owns _twice_. He may have used one of her spells to cast this, but there doesn’t seem to be a reverse hex. 

And she has no clue how to fix it.

“What have I told you about reading my books?” she grinds between clenched teeth.

“Books aren’t toys," he mumbles. "But I couldn’t help it! The cover on this one was … intriguing. And the book - it sort of … _sang_ to me.”

“I’m a witch! These are spell books! Half of them sing! Especially to non-witches! That's how they get people to do their bidding!”

“Now, you see, I didn’t know that.”

“Worry not, dear friends! We’re here, we’re here! The cavalry has arrived!" Aziraphale announces cheerfully, walking into the cottage without knocking - not that Anathema would have heard them with a chair this time flying into the wall, making the ringing in her ears rise to a fever pitch. 

“Yup,” Crowley says, walking in after his husband, lugging a substantial pile of leather-bound tomes in his arms. “We sped over the moment you …” He stops in his tracks at the sight of Newton Pulsifer sitting on the sofa ...

… and his husband seeing Newt for the first time.

Crowley snickers. He wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of cutting their evening short and running to their rescue when a frantic Anathema called Aziraphale's bookshop, begging for help. But now that he's here, he's thrilled beyond reason. 

“So … wot the Heaven happened to you?”

“He read a book,” Anathema answers for him, the three of them ducking a vase that blows by their heads and shatters against the closed window. "Apparently, he has the same effect on books as he has on computers."

" _That_ was uncalled for," Newt grouses.

Aziraphale looks at the remains of the vase, which now more closely resemble dust. “Oh, dear.” 

Anathema massages her brow, dodging another table that breaks against the stove, turning the toothpicks on the floor into a matched set.

“Crowley, my dear, why don’t we move what remains of Mrs. Anathema’s furniture away from Mr. Newton before he hurts someone.”

“Right.” Crowley snaps his fingers, emptying the contents of Anathema's small living room into her bedroom, including the sofa that Newt is sitting on, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Nothing comes of that, however, since a multitude of new appendages catch him and hold him up before his tailbone makes contact with the wood. Crowley arcs a brow.

“Interesting,” he mutters.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Newt defends against the demon's judgmental stare, wincing when the words fly out of his mouth and he hears Anathema gasp. “I was just helping clean the cottage! Anathema leaves her books everywhere! One was open, and it looked interesting! It sang to me!”

“It sang to you?” Aziraphale turns to Anathema for clarification. “Which book? Give it here.” Anathema hands the book over. Newt watches eagerly.

“Yes!” he cries, hoping the expression from Aziraphale to Anathema means the angel is on his side. Crowley, lost in the wordless conversation between Anathema and his angel, keeps an eye on Newt to ensure he doesn't get his hands ... or his tentacles ... on anything lethal. But they seem to quiet down in the presence of a demon. 

_Or perhaps,_ Crowley speculates, _they're regrouping. Coming up with a new strategy._

A new tentacle pops out from somewhere under Newt's left armpit and reaches for Anathema’s cat, who hisses at the foreign appendage and backs threateningly away.

"What do we do now?” Newt asks, discouraged when the room falls silent. Even more so when three new tentacles spring out from his back.

“There may be only one thing we can do,” Aziraphale says, looking from the book in his hands to his own with dismay, “and that’s wait until the spell wears off. Ward off the attacks as they come.” 

“Great! Can we get drunk while we do?” Crowley asks, heading for Anathema’s cupboards and searching for the few bottles of alcohol she keeps around - mostly for casting, she claims. But considering Newt has moved in with her, if these are the antics that happen on the regular, he can see her pinching a nip for more than just conjuring.

“I recommend we do.” Aziraphale sighs, taking the bottle offered by his husband and downing a swig without even peeking at the label, slapping an errant tentacle that reaches over his shoulder for a sip. “Especially since we have yet to see the body that goes with those arms. Or the head.”

“What?” Anathema and Newt say in unison - Newt terrified and Anathema at the end of her rope.

“Yes, indeed." Crowley sits on the floor, and Aziraphale takes a seat beside him, curling against him with bottle in hand, preparing to finish the entire thing. “Better get comfortable, children. It’s going to be a long night."


End file.
